


Not Always Easier Said Than Done

by LM_Artless (MariekoWest)



Series: You Me and the Nations Between Us [2]
Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: FrUK, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariekoWest/pseuds/LM_Artless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's see, there's France being France and England being England, FrUKness, fairies and a scarf. I consider this a FWP (Fluff Without Plot), so there's not much to summarize. The title is pretty much the summary. I'll just warn you again that this is nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Always Easier Said Than Done

"I love you Angleterre..."

There were many things, perhaps too many to recount, that irked him about Francis Bonnefoy. But there was one he could not stand above all, and it was just _that_.

That he was an insufferable git so full of himself. Enough to indulge in his free and unbridled emotions whenever, wherever...

 _This_.

_Blowing kisses behind my back, humming while cooking our food (long infecting me with his French DNA); and that. Whispering rubbish in my ear and bringing his froggy lips to mine when I was fast asleep._

_Not giving me a chance to defend myself..._

_Always so obnoxious... always..._

 

"Why are you in such a bad mood?"

England looked up at his fairies, then back down at his knitting project, clicking his tongue and perfunctorily twisting the needles and mending the threads in a pattern of his idea.

Maybe the very inkling that he didn't understand why he felt so irked was what irked him most.

"I dunno!" He replied testily, pricking his finger in the process."Ow! Blooming fiddlesticks!"

His fairies winced. He squeezed the bleeding finger and brought it to his lips and suckled.

"That's not very hygienic you know..." The one named Donnabelle crooned.

"Perhaps it's how he always makes me feel like I owe him something!" England groused, ignoring the reproach. "Doing all those foolish things in such a sneaky fashion! It's so unspeakably infuriating! So depravedly French!"

The fairy called Rosebud raised her dainty brows at him disapprovingly, "What're you saying? All he did was tell you he loved you! Why must you--"

"Precisely! While I was bloody asleep! Or so he thought! It's underhanded. And annoying!"

Rosebud shook her head slowly, eyes and lips pursing, "That's exactly why he does it when you're unaware! Because you find reasons to be angry at him even when he isn't doing anything wrong! He's being nice! We thought it was very sweet, which is why we told you about it! Now I clearly see it was a mistake!"

England stubbed his finger again but hardly noticed, too caught up in a rising tide of frustration. A speck of blood gleamed where his finger daubed at the wooly fabric. He mechanically continued his knitting, face crumpled in irritation.

“He’s just being selfish…!”

"Hmph, fine. Be a grouch all you want! If you keep being that way France will grow tired of you and run off to find someone else who'll love him!"

At that England shot up looking livid. The fairies scattered out of sight before he could unleash the scream he had been meaning to upon them, to leave him the bloody hell alone.

Sitting back down he sighs, eying the material that had fallen to the floor. He bends over and resumes his work absent-mindedly, feeling his eyes start to burn. Big drops of tears were soon blotching the happy shades of red, blue and dusty-white on his lap, and he hastily wipes his eyes on his apron, trying in vain to hold back the emotions.

_But I do love him… I love him too much I hate him...! God! Does that even make any sense?!_

France always had a way of making him feel so helpless. He clutched the unfinished scarf to his chest… _So warm._

No, he wasn’t going to let France beat him at this game.

England's heart was asunder once again. He always woke up first, but he never got up. He always took his time, these precious fleeting moments – _sometimes minutes_ of freedom, to be himself and stare at his companion's angelic face...

Too soon, France would stir; And England would hurriedly close his eyes and pretend he wasn't staring - pretend he wasn't watching him sleep. Then he'd feel it... How France stayed perfectly still too, watching him; touching his face with such fragility it burned; Endearments whispered so delicately, like dewdrops on gossamer.

" _Je t'aime Angleterre..._ "

Before England could muster the courage to draw up a response; or recover from the butterfly kiss pressed to the tip of his nose; the Frenchman was already dressed and out the door, his light humming fading until there was no sound left but the merry twittering of early birds.

"Francis..." England murmurs to his pillow, reaching underneath to pull out a wrapped bundle.

As he'd resolved, he gave it after breakfast that day and not a second later. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow upon receiving the bundle, a smile ghosting over his features.

"It isn't my birthday."

"It doesn't have to be."

France reads the note attached:

**This is an enchanted scarf. Wear it when you feel cold. It will warm your heart not just your neck. I made it so you can feel my heart when words fail me.**

Carefully, ceremoniously, France took out the soft fabric, and with hushed excitement wrapped it snugly around his neck. Their eyes met briefly, before England looked away embarrassed and both their cheeks instantly tinted pink.

"I love it," said the Frenchman softly.

"It suits you."

"It feels so warm... like your naked body is wrapped aroundz me. Maybe I should stri—aïe!"

France rubbed his head where the other's knuckles bap’d it. England's blush had intensified.

"So violent, why can't you be more like your scarf?"

"Shut it frog. If you must molest an item of clothing I made, at least have the decency to do it privately!"

"So if you transmit your feelings to me zrough zis, will you feel what’zever I do to it as well?"

"NO! And you're a right git! I'm starting to wish I cursed that scarf to strangulate you instead!" England rose and started stomping away, already having second thoughts about the brashness of his actions when a hand latched on to his arm.

"Why’re you articulate enough when you are angry?"

"Why must you be so bloody infuriating?!"

"I love you too, Ar'zzur."

The Englishman sighed deflated, as he was enclosed in France's arms.

"And Ar'zzur~?”

“What?”

“Your scarf is feeling horny."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. (*_*) This is the only ending that would come out. Just something I needed to write on a very stressful day.
> 
> * * *
> 
> (04 - 08/29/2013)
> 
> * * *
> 
> **X-posted:** [lovemeartless](https://www.fanfiction.net/~lovemeartless) {FFnet}
> 
> * * *
> 
> **My Dragon Ball Z & Other Works**: [MariekoWest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MariekoWest/pseuds/MariekoWest) {AO3} / [MewrSaidTheCat](https://www.fanfiction.net/~mewrsaidthecat) {FFnet}  
>  **Works Archive:** [M(☆)W: The Asteroid E2-13](http://mariexfolie.blog.fc2.com) {fc2}


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